


Rise

by 8611



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Boy King of Hell Sam, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Dean, Gen, Gore, Hallucifer, Mark of Cain, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8611/pseuds/8611
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re walking along the path, the fire roaring around you, and Dean leads, just like he always has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rise

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda comes from [this post](http://breezydean.tumblr.com/post/80028338469/gracelesscas-what-if-the-finale-isnt-crowley-or), and the idea Sam never handed Hallucifer over to Cas and dealt with it on his own instead. Contains spoilers for bits and pieces of season 9. 
> 
> I wrote this a month or two ago so parts of it have been seriously jossed at this point, but, in the immortal words of a certain Mythbuster: "I reject your reality and substitute my own!"
> 
> Previously posted [here](http://deepspacebison.tumblr.com/post/80239311536/fic-rise) on tumblr.

You still hear him sometimes. It’s usually during the last lazy hour of the day, when the sunlight is hazy, coming through the tree branches at an angle and making the air shine. You’re not sure why -- he seems like the kind of being who would choose to come to you at night instead -- but it seems to have become his favorite time of day. 

\- _Sammy, Sammy. You let him leave._

You push him down and away, hands on the wheel and Cas at your side. When he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, you think that he might know, but you don’t ask. 

\- _He pushed himself away_ , you think. In reply, you get the distinct feeling that Lucifer is humming happily, like it’s all one giant cosmic joke. 

\---

You know you’re getting stronger. He is too. Tossing Gadreel out of your head shook something loose, and Lucifer’s curling around your thoughts more than he has in years. 

\- _I've been around for a long, long year. Stole many a man's soul and faith._ He’s developed a habit of singing. 

\- _That’s cliche as hell,_ you think. - _Pick something less blindingly obvious._

He changes tracks. The Stones becomes Van Halen. You grimace, trying not to associate the goddamn Devil with Dean’s cassette tape collection.

\- _Changed your mind, Sammy?_

\- _Your taste in music sucks._

\---

He steps into your dreams with a roll of his neck, cracking his spine like he hasn’t used it in a while. He’s still wearing Nick, all cleaned up and whole in this space. 

“You know what your brother is up to?” He asks, sitting down on the end of your bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows and raise your eyebrows at him. 

“Killing shit, probably,” you say. 

“Demons,” Lucifer says, shrugging. “But not the point of this little chat.”

He pats the bed and you, in a brief flash of need, think about crawling over to him. Instead, though, you say where you are. 

“What is?” You ask. 

“Dean,” Lucifer says, and he spreads his arms wide, like he’s putting on a show, “has marked himself for Hell. Again.” 

You wake up with a deep breath, staring at the ceiling of your room in the darkness. Your heart is beating too fast, and you can’t get back to sleep.

\---

Hunting with Dean is difficult. He runs roughshod over everything you’re trying to keep in line. It’s different than the way he used to do it, all brash smiles and boundless energy. Instead, he’s dark and contained and wildly unpredictable, too powerful and holding too many secrets. 

You can’t say you’re surprised about the mark on his arm. Lucifer did warn you. 

\- _Told you,_ he sing-songs, and you roll your eyes. 

Dean catches you, from the other side of the motel room, and stares at you. 

“Something I said?” He asks, even though neither of you haven’t said anything for edging on half an hour. 

“No,” you say, and shrug. 

\- _You know, this could be a beautiful new beginning. For old time’s sake._

That night he fills your head with visions of you walking down a slate path in the middle of a forest on fire, the ash like snow and the air superheated against your skin. Dean is ahead of you, and when he turns to you, jaw bone blade in one hand and twisted angel blade glinting the other, his eyes are black and his smirk is as sharp as it’s ever been. 

“This could be ours,” you say with your own mouth, your own voice, but Lucifer’s words. 

\---

It’s afternoon again, and Lucifer has been singing 10,000 Maniacs songs on a loop for half an hour. You’ve been waiting for Dean for that half an hour, sitting in a tiny coffee shop in a tiny town and staring at your laptop. Once upon a time, in what feels like another life, you would have worried. You don’t now. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. You’re not even angry at him anymore. You’re just existing in equilibrium. This would be normal for any other work partnership on the planet, and you’ve relaxed into it. 

\- _Careful._ Lucifer doesn’t really stop singing, just changes the words to his own. - _Acceptance is the first step to healing._

\- _We’re never going to heal._ You find that you’re totally fine with that. - _Dean’s got Cain’s mark on his arm and put an angel in my skull. I think this is how things are going to be from now on._

\- _Can’t you at least try to sound upset?_

\- _What’s the point of wasting time on that?_

\- _Oh, Sam, look at you. Who knew that one day you’d break your Michael? Heaven has never had your power._ There is something strange in his voice, half pride and half sorrow. 

You shift in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable, and try to concentrate on your research. 

\---

It would be impossible to ignore the way that Lucifer sits up and takes notice when Dean gets his hand on the first blade. It’s the closest you’ve come to feeling like he’s possessing you since he actually was, and it takes your breath away. 

\- _Well, this is an interesting turn of events,_ Lucifer says, and he sounds delighted. When Dean takes the guy’s head clean off you get the feeling that Lucifer is having the best day he’s had in a while. 

When you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Lucifer has a hand around your throat. 

\- _Not the fucking time,_ you hiss. - _Let me talk._

He sinks back far enough for you to bark an order at Dean. You watch the whole thing play out across his face, the way his eyes are dark and hooded one moment, animalistic fury written in every line of his face, and then bright the next. Wide, gorgeous, green. Nothing in them except for _Dean_. 

The blade hits the ground. You breathe out, and Lucifer is a bright presence at the back of your mind.

\- _It’s so good to see this_ , he purrs. - _You could help him get there, twist him for me._

It takes you a long time to fall asleep that night.

\---

You can feel when the Dean shifts from zero to sixty. He’s been sliding for a month or two now, but a week after the mark on his arm simmers to life when it felt the blade, he suddenly drops. 

You’ve been tracking a nest of vamps, and it’s the first time you’ve seen Dean use his blade from Purgatory in what has to be a year. You figure you’ll go in slow, pick them off one by one. 

The problem with that plan is that they’re waiting for you. You’re working on taking out one of them and avoiding another when you turn to find Dean moving harder and faster than you’ve ever seen him. He’s got three of them split into two pieces in the space between heartbeats, and four and five go down just like that. 

“Watch it!” Dean roars, and you duck out of habit. The blade goes spinning over your head, slamming into the head and neck of the vamp that was coming up on your back. He crumples, twitching, and you stand over him, breathing hard. 

“You ok?” You ask, even though it’s a stupid question. Dean is standing still, feet wide and blood up to his elbows and across his chest, and the light has gone out of his eyes again. He feels like a gathering storm, and you suck in a hard breath. He’s not coming back from this. You just know.

\- _Big brother’s gone out to play._ It’s low, crooning, as slick as the blood on your hands. - _You should ask him if you can join._

“Fine,” Dean snaps, even though he’s closing and opening his right hand over and over again, like his fingers are trying to grab something out of the air. 

\---

You’re walking along the path, the fire roaring around you, and Dean leads, just like he always has. The cracked pewter blade in his hand is almost golden in the light of the flames. 

“What’s up ahead?” You ask, and somehow Dean can hear you over the fire. 

“Home,” Dean says, grinning, and he walks backwards for a few paces, easy and loose limbed. 

“Lead on, then,” you say. Dean licks his lips before offering up a little nod. 

You know you should wake up, but you can’t. The dream won’t let you shake yourself from its grasp. 

Another person falls into step next to you, and you don’t have to look to your left to know who it is. 

“You know, I hand picked them all,” Lucifer says. “Shame, what Cain did. I think we’ve bounced back alright, though. And look at who he choose to take his place.”

Your eyes still haven’t left Dean’s back. Dean looks over his shoulder, can probably feel your eyes on him. There is flame framing him, warming his skin, and when he smiles, something honest and beautiful, open and wonderful, you force yourself awake. 

You stumble to the bathroom, gripping the edge of the sink, and stare at yourself in the mirror. 

“Make the move,” your reflection says to you. You think about punching the glass, but you just grip the sink tighter, and for the first time in a while you realize you miss Dean, even though he’s just down the hallway. 

\---

Dean is the one to find her, to draw her out. You’re not sure how he does it, but he went speeding off in the car three days ago and came back an hour ago dragging Abaddon -- although split into two pieces. You’re never getting the blood off the library floor. 

“You have really got to learn some manners,” she says with a little huff. Dean’s got her laid out on the table in the dungeon, and he’s working on putting her two halves back together. “At least take a girl out to dinner before you chain her up.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean says, and his sneer is unlike anything you’ve ever seen on his face before. His eyes are darker than when he went out, the muddy green irises now fully black and the whites bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days. 

His whole right arm is a snare of angry black and red tendrils. You ignored it for a while, but now you can’t help being drawn to it. You should be terrified of what your brother is becoming, but instead you’re almost fascinated.

“I have to say,” Abaddon says, letting her head thunk back against the table. “You’re at lot harder on the furniture than our _old_ fearless leader.”

“Fearless leader pussied out, so you’re going to have to deal with me,” Dean snaps. “No you wanna fucking sit still, so I can sew straight?” 

Abaddon rolls her eyes, but she does go still, let Dean push and pull the needle. You’ve never seen her take an order in her life. 

\---

“You’re rather ok with this all,” Lucifer says when he sits down next to you, easing himself into the chair Dean usually sits in. 

“I’m awake, why the hell are you here?” You ask with a sigh. You’re probably not as bothered by this as you should be. 

“We need to chat,” Lucifer says. He raises his eyes and looks at you with his head tilted to the side, all dry indifference.

“Do we?” You ask, just as dry. 

“I almost forgot how mouthy you are. Yes, we do. You do realize what you have under your thumb right now, correct?”

You frown at him, because you’re not sure what he’s referring to. Abaddon? She won't listen to you, the only person she’s been listening to these past few days is Dean and his demon drill sergeant nasty routine. 

“Abaddon?” You ask, sitting back and hooking an arm over the chairback. 

“No,” Lucifer says. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Sam, how are you the smart one in this duo? _Dean_. You’ve got one of my knights and he’ll do anything for you.”

“He’s not --” you stop yourself, suck in a breath. When you try to talk again, you find it hard to, and something twists inside of you. Dean’s going darkside and you’re remarkably ok with it, seemingly. 

“There we go,” Lucifer says. He looks extremely pleased.

“What do you want?” You ask, and you find that what you’d love to do is wipe Lucifer’s smirk right off his face. You want to call for Dean, make him do it for you. 

“That’s addressed to the wrong person,” Lucifer says. “What do _you_ want?” 

\---

The minute Crowley shows up with the blade, Dean has it in his hand and is crowding Crowley up against the Impala, blade at his throat. 

“You really think I didn’t see this coming?” Crowley says. He sighs, like he feels the Winchesters and their particular brand of stupidity is the most taxing thing he’s had to deal with in a while.

“Actually, he’s not going to kill you,” you say. Crowley looks over at you, looking confused, and then he looks back to Dean. 

Dean smirks, something you’ve only seen in your dreams, and flexes his fingers around the blade, just the once. As his hand settles comfortably on the handle, his eyes slip to black. Crowley actually draws back as much as he can, although you’re not sure if it’s out of shock or fear. 

“We’re thinking there needs to be a management change,” Dean says, pressing Crowley bodily against the car. “Sammy’s got it covered.”

“What’re you on about?” Crowley asks, narrowing his eyes. Dean steps back, keeping himself between you and Crowley. “What’s going on?”

“A regime change,” you says. “Well, partly. You can go on being a bureaucratic asshole.” 

“You cannot be serious,” Crowley says. “Just because you’ve got yourself an attack dog -- good look, by the way, Squirrel -- doesn’t mean you can do much. You’re human, Moose. Or did you forget that?”

“That’s not much of a problem,” Dean says. “Technically, I am, too.” 

You reach out for him, and Dean lets you settle a hand across the back of his neck. It’s the first time you’ve touched Dean in a long time. Dean is burning up, and you leach some of the heat out of him, letting it warm your core.

\- _That’s my boy_ , something at the back of your mind tells you, and you revel in it. 

\---

Demons and souls alike stop and stare as the four of you walk down the hall. It must be an interesting picture -- their former king, two knights, and the boy that was promised to them all those years ago. 

“God, this place is so drab now,” Abaddon says. “I _don’t_ love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Fire and chains are so medieval,” Crowley mutters. “You just lack imagination.” 

“Who said anything about fire and chains?” Abaddon says. She holds up a hand, almost like she’s holding out a paint chip. “I’m thinking endless darkness and blood.”

“You’re both giant fucking idiots,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re just a traditionalist,” you says. “You _would_ bring back the fire and chains.”

“Um, _duh_ ,” Dean says. “Nostalgia factor, Sammy.” 

You laugh, and love the way it makes Dean light up, cheeks flushed. 

“Where are we even going?” Abaddon sighs. “Or did you two just want to take a stroll?” 

“Cage,” you says. You can feel it when Crowley actually falters in his step a bit, and you grin. “I’ve got a favor to do for a friend.” 

\---

The forest fire and path end where a wide river begins. The water is the same black as Dean’s eyes and there are stars caught under its surface. Dean stoops down by the water’s edge, driving the angel blade Lucifer gave him into the ground point first to free up a hand, and plucks one of the stars from the water. He opens his hand, and the starlight shines on his face as it floats up towards the sky. 

“Remember that time we nearly set that field on fire on the fourth?” Dean asks you as he stands up, watching the star rise. Another new soul, lost to the aether, forever bound to the ashen air of this strange in between, your Hell and Dean’s purgatory. 

“I do,” you say, smiling softly. Dean returns the expression before wrenching the blade back out of the charred earth and taking a step into the water. 

It’s shallow, only up to his knees, and after he takes a few steps he turns to you. 

“C’mon, loser, it’s safe,” he says, and you ford in after him. The water is strangely light around your legs, and you move to stand next to him. 

“Loser?” You ask, raising your eyebrows. 

“I can start calling you _your majesty_ ,” Dean says. When he smirks, it’s all teeth. 

“Oh god, how about no,” you groan. “I’d rather be Moose.”

“I think you’re stuck with that one forever,” Dean says, and starts walking again. You watch him for a few paces, marveling at the way the starlit river makes him glow. When he stops to look back the light shines in the black of his eyes. “You coming? I got people to torture, knights to train, apocalypses to restart. Not all of us can laze around on thrones, Sammy.”

You laugh at that, and he smiles and holds out a hand for you. You do the only thing that feels right -- you take it, and follow your big brother through the water, heading home.


End file.
